"I make no promises." He crosses the room and takes my hands in his. "Your mother would be so proud of you, Hannah. I know I am."
We've come so far since that afternoon on his doorstep in Chicago. The apologies, the explanations, the slow rebuildingof trust—it wasn't easy, and it wasn't quick. There were hard conversations and harder silences. Moments when I wasn't sure we'd ever find our way back to each other.
But we did. Family does that. Real family fights for each other, forgives each other, shows up even when showing up is hard.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For being here. For accepting all of this."
"Accepting?" He laughs softly. "Sweetheart, I'd accept a lot worse than a former mafia boss for a son-in-law if it meant seeing you this happy."
"He makes me happy, Dad. He really does."
"I know." He squeezes my hands. "I knew it the moment I saw you two together. The way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters." His eyes grow misty. "Your mother used to look at me that way."
Now I'm definitely going to cry. "Dad?—"
"Ready?" Mila bursts through the door, all teenage energy and barely contained excitement. At nine, she's grown into a beautiful young girl with her father's dark hair and her mother's kind eyes. She's also appointed herself the unofficial wedding coordinator, complete with clipboard and aggressive timeline management.
"The guests are seated, the musicians are ready, and Papa is pacing at the altar like he thinks you might not show up." She rolls her eyes with all the dramatic flair of a preteen. "I told him you wouldn't abandon us, but he's being ridiculous."
"He's nervous," I say, smiling.
"He's ridiculous," Mila repeats, but there's affection underneath her exasperation. "Now come on. We have a schedule to keep."
She ushers everyone into position with terrifying efficiency. Delilah takes Sofia, who will ride down the aisle in a flower-decorated wagon pulled by Mila. It's unconventional, but so is everything about our family.
Dad offers me his arm. "Ready to do this?"
I take a deep breath, feeling the baby kick inside me—our second child, another girl according to the ultrasound. Sofia will have a sister. Mila will have another sibling to boss around. And Dante will be even more outnumbered by women in his own home.
He pretends to complain about it. He's never been happier.
"More ready than I've ever been," I tell my father.
The chapel doors open, and I see him.
Dante stands at the altar in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, but I barely notice the clothes. I'm too focused on his face—the way his blue eyes lock onto mine with absolute intensity, the way his breath catches when he sees me, the slight trembling in his hands that tells me the most dangerous man I've ever known is nervous about marrying me.
Behind him, Alexei stands as best man, looking proud and just a little smug. He's grown into his role as pakhan, leading the organization toward more legitimate enterprises while maintaining the family's power. He and Dante still talk regularly—some bonds can't be broken by retirement.
But it's Dante I can't look away from. Dante, who kidnapped me and kept me captive and turned my entire world upside down. Dante, who taught me to shoot and held me through nightmaresand walked away from an empire because I mattered more than power.
Dante, who gave me Sofia and this baby and Mila and a life I never knew I wanted.
The walk down the aisle feels like both an ending and a beginning. Each step takes me further from the woman I used to be—the one who thought safety meant avoiding risk, who believed love was something that happened to other people, who never imagined she'd find home in the arms of a monster who turned out to be a man.
Sofia spots her father and shrieks with delight. "Papa! Papa!"
The guests laugh. Dante's stern expression cracks into a smile so full of love it makes my eyes sting.
When I finally reach the altar, Dad places my hand in Dante's. The two men exchange a look—understanding passing between them that doesn't need words. Two fathers, two protectors, both trusting each other with the person who matters most.
"Take care of her," Dad says quietly.
"Always," Dante promises.
Dad kisses my cheek, then takes his seat in the front row, already dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief.
The officiant begins speaking, words about love and commitment and building a life together. But I'm barely listening. I'm too busy looking at Dante, seeing our entire history reflected in his eyes.
